


Mundane Magic

by Phoenix_Ryzing



Series: Original Fiction [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Afterlife, Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, One Shot, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Post-Apocalypse, Random & Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Ryzing/pseuds/Phoenix_Ryzing
Summary: Because I can't Not have something magical, supernatural, or otherwise Weird in my stories, these stories are the closest I have to average, everyday life. Think of these as, stories with ordinary people in ordinary worlds that just happen to have elements of magic and mysticism.Rated Teen just to be cautious--these are more PG than anything but that isn't a rating here XD





	1. Which Afterlife Do You Want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Death

"What do you mean, I get to choose?" you say, staring at the Reaper in front of you.

The Reaper shrugged. "You get to choose. Where do you wanna head? Nirvana, Heaven, Olympus, Earth? Do you want to reincarnate, or be a ghost? Or would you rather disperse into the ether?"

You blink rapidly, and say, "Uh- um- I don't... I don't know..."

The Reaper smiled, an action that was supposed to be kind but came off as creepy. "Take all the time you need. I'm in no rush."

You nod, and walk off a little ways. Around you are other spirits, all in the nude like yourself, all trying to decide. The area was... pleasant. All grey mist sure, but a light, warm kind of mist, an early-summer morning mist. Wandering around as well were different guides to the afterlife- Reapers, Iris, Angels, Gods. You wave at some of them, and they respond in their own way.

You wander, and think.

Thing is, you never _believed_ in the afterlife. You thought it was all rot- why would their be an invisible world that "souls" went to after death? Death was the end, wasn't it? That's what you'd thought, and how you'd lived, making every second count. 

"I don't... I don't want to die..." you muttered. You still had so much to _do_. You were engaged. You hadn't visited Egypt yet, or Taiwan. Your dear mother needed your care before she passed.

It just wasn't _fair._ You were young, vibrant. You loved Life and the world and wanted nothing more to keep living till you were old and grey. 

You closed your eyes. It hadn't been fair, your death. People your age didn't die, not like that. Oh, some did, but it was rare. Not anyone you'd known had died like _that_.

"I just want to go back," you whispered.

"Go back? That's your choice?" the Reaper said, materializing behind you.

You jump and spin around. "That- that's an option?!"

"Of course it is. Haven't you heard of near-death experiences? People die and go back, even if it means to a broken body and terrible trauma. I must warn you, your death was grisly. You won't be as fit as you once were. Do you accept that?"

You thought for a long, long minute. Then you said slowly, "I know it'll be hard. And maybe I'll regret it. But I won't know unless I try, won't I? I can always die again and choose something else."

The Reaper hummed. "Not necessarily."

You blink. "What do you mean, not necessarily?"

The Reaper placed a bony hand on your shoulder and said gently, "You can only pick once. You get one extra life, one after-life. After that, you just..."

"...disappear. Right?" you said.

The Reaper nodded. "That's the rules. I'm sorry."

You bend your head... and then, raise it and square your shoulders. "Send me back."

The Reaper cocked it's head. "You sure? You'll choose eternal oblivion?"

"I was expecting that anyways," you explained. "I've accepted it. What's the point of going on and on for eternity? I'll just grew tired of it. This way, I can truly appreciate what time I have left."

The Reaper paused, then smiled. "Not often we get people who truly understand Life like you do. Alright. Close your eyes," it instructed, and you did so. 

And as you felt yourself drift away, you heard Death say, "And for your earnest heart, a gift. You will get your wish. You will live a long life. Whether it is a good life is up to you. But I'm sure you will make every moment count."

_I will. I promise._


	2. Santa Claus' Real Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Don't be a dick, please

"Sir, we got a problem," a small elf said, trying desperately to keep up with the man three times his height."

"...the sleigh runners need hammering out... hmm, maybe Johnson can do that..." the big red man muttered to himself, striding forward as if he hadn't heard.

"Sir! That doesn't matter!" the elf said, clutching his clipboard tightly. "We have-" 

"...the globe needs to be re-calibrated... it's three milliseconds off..."

"Sir!" the poor elf said, jumping in front of the man, who stopped lest he run the boy over. "Please! I need you to see this!"

The man sighed and crouched down, his rosy-cheeked face on level with the small elf's ruddy one. "Yes, Irish?"

The elf gulped and said, "Santa, sir, please- look at this report-" he said, handing Claus the clipboard.

Claus took the item, small in his hands, and gave it a cursory glance. "Ah. Down six percent."

He straightened up and handed Irish back his treasured clipboard. "Well, back to work!" he said cheerily, starting to step to the side.

"Sir!" Irish cried, jumping in front of him again. "The children! They don't believe! Aren't you worried?!"

Claus stopped at that, and stared off for a moment. Then he said slowly, "Irish. Do you know what my job is?"

The elf blinked. "Sir? Is it not implanting the knowledge of the best gifts in parents minds?"

Claus shook his head. "That is but a small part. Parents are wise, they only need a magical nudge in the right direction. No Irish, my job is far more important than that. 

"Come," he said, standing up and striding forward. Irish jogged behind him, wondering what exactly his boss wanted to show him.

Claus strode through the main atrium where elves busied themselves in production of the magic dust that would be sprinkled on adults to show them the true way. Off the main hall were the toy workshops for the children parent's forget about; and next to them the special drinks that make parents believe that someone bought them. And through a large door was the stables for the reindeer and sleigh.

But dominating the hall was a large globe shining with small points of light. It was in front of this that Claus stopped.

"Irish," he said, looking down at the elf. "Do you know what this is?"

Irish tilted his head. "The globe of believers, right?"

Claus shook his head. "Check your papers. Are there this many believers?" he said, motioning to the earth that shone with light.

Irish looked down at his papers, then back up at the globe. "...No." Then he blinked and said, "How...?"

Claus smiled gently. "The globe doesn't show believers. It shows faith."

"...I don't understand."

"Faith Faith in Santa, yes, but not just that. Faith in gods, faith in parents, faith in the goodness of humanity," he said, voice taking a soft tone. "Don't you see Irish? It shows all that believe in something bigger, grander, then themselves. And yes, it's gone down," he said, looking down with tears in his eyes. "People have grown suspicious and jaded- they have been hurt too many times to belief. But that's why I'm here," he said, looking up with a smile.

"I inspire faith in children, when they need it most. The dream, the legend, the _magic_ of Santa Claus, plants the seeds. Oh, they'll be broken-hearted when they find out where the presents come from, but they'll remember. They'll remember the belief. And some will grown wary. But some, ah, some will seek the magic in the world. The magic that interweaves everything big and small."

He knelt down again to look Irish in the eye. "Do you understand?"

Irish nodded slowly. "I think so. It's about love, isn't it? Love of something you can't see."

Claus smiled broadly and patted Irish's head. "Yes," he said simply. "That's exactly it."

Then he straightened and clapped his hands. "Now! To work! The sleigh ride leaves in a few hours, and we need to make sure it's ready! Irish, check the presents list and make sure it's up to date."

Irish saluted and started to dash off. Then he paused, turned, and said, "They won't see you, will they?"'

Claus shook his head. "No. No one in millennia has seen me. But that's okay," he said with a soft smile. "They'll get their presents regardless. Besides. "Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see." They must learnt that."

Irish nodded, and dashed off to the toy workshops.

Claus just smiled and strode off to check on the reindeer. "Yes," he muttered to himself. "I may not be real to most people. But that's alright. As long as the children are happy, I'm happy."

And he got to work.


	3. Free At Last (Completely Mundane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Death

"Your father has died. I'm so sorry."

The girl's shoulders sagged, her head bowed.... 

And a wide smile cracked her face. 

"I'm free," she whispered.

"Excuse me?" the professor said. "What did you say?"

The girl looked up, eyes shining. "I'm free~!" she shouted. "I can go home now!"

She whirled around, intent on running to her dorm and packing, when the professor caught her arm. "Wait a minute sissy, where are you going?"

"Home!" she said joyfully. "Home, home, I can finally go home! He isn't there to hurt me anymore. I'm _free_."

She looked at the professor and smiled radiantly. "I'm sorry sir, but I'll have to miss your classes for the next week or two- funeral and all. After that, well, I'll see if they let me transfer to my home town college. I'm sorry."

The professor blinked, then smiled. "It's quiet alright. I'm just happy to see you happy." He put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Guess there's no place like home?"

The girl shook her head and smiled. "Yes. There's no place like home."


	4. Green Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Apocalypse

It had taken time, of course.

When there was the worldwide destruction of electronics, everyone panicked. Riots led to revolts, peace and government collapsed under the weight of people's fears. 

Of course, they tried to fix it at first. I mean, surely _someone_ knew how to make silicon chips and electric grids from scratch, right? But every time they tried, it simple... shorted out. Imploded. Melted. Same with anything made of metal- at bets, you got electrocuted. Soon people stopped touching it.

It took them a long time to figure out that electricity was no longer possible. There were theories- sunspots taking precedent, or a change in the magnetic fields of Earth- but it didn't matter.

Modern technology was _gone._ The world got forced back to the Stone Age.

And oddly, it became happier that way, once the dust settled. Once the Apocalypse ended.

Oh, not that there weren't issues at first. Bombs detonating- nuclear bombs too. Whole areas became inhospitable. With governments all gone, crime reigned supreme. Many people died- millions, really. Especially in first-world countries, places reliant on electricity for basic survival. It was truly an Apocalypse.

So how could it be better? Who would be left?

The simple people.

The farmers, the fishers, the hunter-gatherers. The ones who didn't attack with guns, but who created life from nearly nothing. The ones whose concern was themselves and their families, not power or control.

It had taken decades. The violent, the power-hungry, the brutes; all killed each other and whoever they could to assert their power.

But you can't create food from blood.

They died out. And the few, the survivors, gathered together. They erected simply villages, villages of mud and wood, and the ruler wasn't the one with the biggest knife, but the one with the biggest fields. Power was now defined by the ability to keep yourself and others alive. 

After all, all farmers are strong. 

Around the world, little communities sprung up in the middle of nowhere. The ones who had always lived simply led the ones who hadn't but were willing to try. And oh, there were problems. Humans had bred themselves to be smart, not strong. People were used to going to the store, even the homesteaders. Many, many, many people died.

But those who survived did so with the grease of their elbow and sweat of their brow.

And they were happier that way.

A hundred years, maybe more, and the new Earth had mostly established itself. No-one alive now remembered what it used to be, and no-one really cared anymore.

Life settled into simple routines. For the farmers, wake up and plow the fields with wooden cradles. For the ranchers, go tend to the herds. For the craftsmen, work on keeping their village clothed and productive. It was hard work, but it was honest work. And somehow, that make things better.

And they had little pleasures, of course. Once the sun set candles were lit and books read and stories told. People came together for community meals, for dances by firelight in time to the pan-flute and drums. 

Not all of the old world was lost. The lessons learned there remained. People knew what mental health was, the acid-fire of prejudice, the folly of hoarding wealth and power. They weren't barbarians, they were still civilized. 

But they left behind the lessons now rendered useless. Classism meant nothing now, nor did elitism. Greed didn't disappear, but it weakened when the richest someone could be was to have a big waddle-and-dub house and dyed clothes. 

And people no longer fought, not _really_. Not the way they used to.

You could hardly have a war when the largest village was maybe a hundred men and weapons all but didn't exist. Besides, their fathers were all friends, weren't they? They had worked together to survive the Apocalypse. And what was there to fight over? Land? When nearly all of humanity had died? Food? Maybe, but all the ones still alive had enough food as-is. Riches? What riches? Metal was destructive and pretty stones worthless in the new age.

Oh, there were some fights, of course. Humanity didn't become _perfect_.

But seeing humanity destroy itself in war was a great incentive to _not do that again_.

And over time, people learned to be grateful for just having their next meal, to be proud of just a hard day's work. Their sights were so much smaller now, but that meant that little things could make one happy. A fresh-plowed field, a good story, the successful birth of a child- these were the joys in life. 

And that was enough.


End file.
